


you help me sing my song

by estrella30



Category: One Direction, Radio 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Schmoop, weddingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:18:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrella30/pseuds/estrella30
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He thinks that part of the problem is that lately he’s been thinking about it - about marrying Harry - and suddenly the idea doesn’t seem as ridiculous as it once did and that scares the crap out of him."</p><p>or, Nick and Harry get married fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	you help me sing my song

**Author's Note:**

> this is just flat out nick and harry are in love and get married fic. I have no idea what's even happening to my life. 
> 
> thanks to mediaville for the beta and crucios for the britpick! written for marcolette for bidding on me in fandomaid - hope you like it!!
> 
> any remaining mistakes are my own.

*

 

The whole thing starts as kind of a lark, like most things do when he and Harry are involved. 

“Do you want coffee or tea?” Harry asks, voice still rough with sleep. He’s stood at Nick’s kitchen counter wearing nothing but a pair of dark grey boxer shorts and Nick’s Dr. Dre t-shirt. His hair is tangled around his face and his feet are bare, toes curling against the cold tile floor. Nick is at the kitchen table scrolling through his phone, sending off a quick email to Finchy and checking Twitter. 

“Coffee,” Nick answers and barely registers Harry grunting and shoving the box of teabags back into the cabinet before grabbing the coffee from the fridge. 

Harry putters around for a few minutes; Nick distantly hears the water running and Harry scooping coffee into the pot and then the quiet hiss and gurgle of the coffee percolating. Nick glances up just in time to admire the view of Harry’s arse from where he’s leaned over into Nick’s fridge, and then he stands up and shakes out his fringe with the carton of eggs and a loaf of bread in his hands. 

“I’ll make eggs and toast?” Harry asks, banging the refrigerator door shut with his hip. “We don’t have much else, actually. Should probably go shopping today if one of us has time.”

“You can send me a list later if you want,” Nick tells him. “I can stop after the show and pick up whatever we need.” Harry starts getting out bowls and pans and in a few minutes the coffee is done and Nick puts his phone down and gets up from the table. He grabs two mugs from the cabinet and takes the sugar Harry manages to grab from the shelf over his head in between cracking eggs. Nick scoots around him to get the milk and then he’s fixing their coffee while Harry lights the flame on the hob and shoves some bread into the toaster. 

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” Harry says. He pours the eggs into the pan and Nick brings their coffee and then plates and forks over to the table, setting them up right next to each other so Harry has to sit next to him where Nick can kick him under the table until Harry rolls his eyes and shoves him away like every other morning. 

And that’s just it; it’s a regular morning. It’s not the first time they’ve woken up and made breakfast together (well, all right, Harry makes the breakfast and Nick sets the table but _still_ , it’s close enough) and Nick doesn’t know what possesses him to say it – why this morning would be any different from any other – but the next thing he knows he’s opening his mouth and joking, “You’re going to make a good wife someday, Harry Styles.”

Harry laughs brightly at him, putting his hand over his mouth to muffle the sound like he does when he thinks he’s being too loud and Nick grins. “Piss off,” Harry says. “I’m not going to be anyone’s wife. A good husband I’d have made though, I think,” he says, biting his lip and seeming to think about it. “I mean, I don’t think I’d have been total rubbish at it at least.”

Nick snorts. “I’d be a rubbish husband,” he says, and while he knows it’s true he’s slightly miffed by how eagerly Harry agrees with him. 

“God, you’d be the worst,” Harry says and shudders. He scoops eggs from the pan onto their plates and then brings over a stack of toast before sitting down next to Nick, dragging his chair even closer so they’re pressed together at the hip and thigh.

Nick frowns. He chews his eggs thoughtfully and wonders why it’s bothering him that Harry thinks he’d be a crap husband. Because while it’s nothing Nick’s ever really wanted or thought about seriously what makes Harry so sure he’d be great at it and Nick would be total rubbish?

“Hey,” Harry says, stepping on Nick’s foot lightly to get his attention. Nick looks up and Harry’s eyes are sparkling and bright. He’s not being mean about it; he’s just being earnest, like it’s a fact. Nick wonders why that doesn’t make him feel any better. “There’s nothing wrong with you not being a good husband,” Harry says. “I mean, hypothetically.”

Nick _hmm_ s thoughtfully. “I mean, I guess. Anyway, why d’you think I’d be so awful at it?”

Harry stares at him for a moment, eyes wide. “Uhm,” he says hesitantly. “Well, first off because you’d probably run screaming from the altar since you, you know, _never want to get married_ ,” Harry says slowly. “That’s not usually the best place to start from.”

Nick fiddles with his fork. He doesn’t know why this is bothering him like it is. It’s not like it’s anything to be thinking about, really, and Harry’s right. Nick _doesn’t_ want to get married. He’s never wanted to. This is hardly news. 

“Nick,” Harry says quietly. He lays his hand on top of Nick’s, slotting their fingers together. “Don’t be a twat. Why are we even talking about this?”

Nick wishes he knew. He shrugs and eats the rest of his breakfast then pushes the plate away. Harry’s hand is warm and his flips his own hand over so their palms are touching. “You’d be a great husband,” Nick tells Harry seriously and it’s like an instant reaction; Harry’s cheeks flush and he bites his lip and his eyes get crinkly and stupid. 

“Well, nevermind that,” Harry says, leaning over to kiss Nick smartly on the mouth before standing up. “It’s nothing we have to think about, yeah? I’ll go make you that shopping list now.”

Nick finishes his coffee while Harry wanders around the kitchen checking how much milk they have and if he needs anything special for some new chicken thing he wants to try for dinner that night. He sets up Nick’s travel mug and puts some fruit in a bag for Nick to bring with him to the station and before he gets into the shower he leans over again and kisses Nick deeply, pulling away with a tiny smile curving his lips and a promise that he’ll see him later, and it’s perfect and normal and nothing out of the ordinary but for some reason Nick is thrown off and weird for the rest of the day.

*

“Are you even listening to a word I’ve said?” 

Nick snaps his head up to find Aimee glaring at him from the other side of the table. They’re out to lunch and she’s been talking about Thurston, maybe? Or possibly the new bloke she’s been dating? Either way whoever it is has worms and she’s taking him to the doctor later in the day to find out for sure. Nick is desperately hoping it’s Thurston. 

“Erm,” Nick hedges. He pushes his plate away and waits for the server to come and clear their table before giving Aimee his brightest grin. “No, love, sorry. Everything all right?”

“Well, sure,” Aimee says, rolling her eyes. “I mean other than the worms. Now tell me what’s up with you because you’ve been acting strange for days now.”

Nick sighs. One day he’s going to have to find some friends who don’t know him so well because this is inconvenient. But it’s not like he’s even sure what hi problem is. His thoughts are too jumbled to comprehend, let alone explain to someone else. On the plus side if there’s someone who can understand Nick’s half-formed issues, it’s Aimee. 

“I might have told Harry he’d make someone a good wife the other day,” Nick blurts out, because apparently a brain to mouth filter is something he no longer possesses. “And then he said I’d be a crap husband and, I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking about it.”

Aimee’s eyes are wide and she stares at Nick in silence for so long Nick is ready to toss some water on her to make sure she’s still breathing. “Is this going to go to the Harry wearing a dress place?” she whispers, her eyes getting wider with every word. “Because I’ve been _waiting_ for that, oh god. Waiter!” she yells and snaps her fingers over her head. “Drinks! We need drinks!”

“For the love of the Queen, it’s not about Harry wearing a bloody dress,” Nick hisses. Aimee snaps her mouth closed and actually has the gall to look disappointed. 

“Oh,” she says sadly. “Are you sure?”

“Quite,” Nick snorts. 

Aimee sighs. “Oh well,” she says dejectedly. She wraps a loose straw wrapper around the tip of her finger then pulls it off and leaves the curl lying on the table. “So if you’ve not been thinking about Harry in a dress, then—“

“Which I haven’t.”

“Which you’re _missing out on_ ,” Aimee says somewhat dreamily, “Then what have you been thinking about?”

Nick rolls his eyes because the last thing he wants to do is spell this all out for her, but apparently the idea of his boyfriend in a dress is enough to render Aimee completely useless as a best friend. Nick makes note of that for future reference. 

“The other part,” Nick says tightly. “The crap husband part.”

“Oh, that?” Aimee says and blinks. “Well yeah, obviously you’d be a crap husband, Grimmy. God,” she adds and laughs a bit under her breath. “I shudder to even think about it.”

And that’s – well, that’s _offensive_. Nick’s bloody _offended_ , goddammit, and he tells Aimee so. 

Aimee just rolls her eyes again. “Offended, schomended, blah blah. You’ll get over it. And anyway, not that any of this actually matters, because it’s not as if the two of you are getting married or anything.”

And, well, that’s true. Of course that’s true. The entire idea is insane. Nick opens his mouth to tell her exactly that but somehow everything he tries to say gets stuck up high in his throat. He can’t find the words he needs to tell her how ridiculous the idea of marrying Harry is because he thinks– 

He thinks that part of the problem is that lately he’s been thinking about it - about marrying Harry - and suddenly the idea doesn’t seem as ridiculous as it once did and that scares the crap out of him.

Nick still can’t find the words though; everything sounds so trite in his head so he winds up snapping his mouth shut and blowing out a breath and staring across the table in hopes that maybe Aimee can somehow read his mind. Maybe _she_ can poke through all these confusing feelings he’s been having and tell him what he’s supposed to do about them.

It actually looks like she’s trying to do exactly that. She’s leaning forward, eyebrows all scrunched up in thought. Nick meets her eyes evenly, and there must be something there – something that gives him away – because the next thing he knows Aimee is sitting straight in her chair and gasping, a hand covering her mouth. 

“Wait, oh my god, wait. Nick, do you _want_ to be married?” she asks breathlessly. “To Harry?”

“No, god, of course not,” Nick says, his answer standard and immediate. “Marriage, that’s ridiculous. I never even wanted a boyfriend for god’s sake. I don’t do relationships.”

The waiter drops off more drinks and Nick swallows his rum and coke in one long gulp. Aimee is sipping her martini delicately and a minute ticks by without either of them saying a word. When she reaches over and takes Nick’s hand in hers her touch is gentle and soothing like she’s trying to calm him; like she’s afraid that whatever she’s going to say next will cause him to flee the scene. 

“Except that you kind of do,” she says gently. “And I think you already know it. You and Harry have already been together for years. He pretty much lives with you right now. You guys go shopping together all the time, you go away on holiday together, you do pretty much every bloody thing together _anyway_.”

“Yes, I know, we’re horribly co-dependent,” Nick drawls. “Thanks for that, love.”

Aimee gives him a wry look, then smacks him on the side of the head. “You’re purposely misunderstanding me. I’m just saying that if you did decide that _that_ is something you want, I don’t think things would change all that much.”

Nick thinks about it because she’s kind of right; he and Harry are as good as married anyway. And sure, it’s nothing Nick ever really considered for himself but his entire relationship with Harry has followed that same path so why should this be any different? 

Nick never thought he wanted anything like everything Harry’s already given him: someone to wake up to every morning, someone to bring him tea when he’s ill, someone to pack him a lunch and cook him dinner and watch telly with him on the couch every night. And every time something new would happen Nick would freak out a bit until Harry coaxed him through it letting him know that it was ok, that things would be fine, that this was just one more thing, another layer to everything they already were. 

Nick’s sure that Harry wants to be married, or at least he _wanted_ to be married every time he thought about it during his life before he started dating Nick. Harry’s too much of a homebody deep down; he enjoys stability and family and loving someone too much not to have thought about it. And maybe he put the idea to the side because of Nick, because he wants to be with Nick more than marrying someone and that thought – the idea that Harry would sacrifice something _that big_ just for him humbles Nick. 

He loves that Harry would do that for him, but even more than that, he loves that he can make it happen for Harry if Harry wants. He loves that he’s the only one who can. 

“It wouldn’t even be real though,” Nick mumbles. “It wouldn’t be a _real_ wedding.” He hates to think he’s seriously considering it and Aimee already thinks the idea is daft, but when he looks up and catches her eye and sees the way she’s looking at him, mouth pressed shut and eyes shining he thinks maybe the idea’s not so bad after all. 

“It would be real enough,” she finally says, voice soft. “It would. And it would mean so much, and I just think—“

“All right, well. We’ll see,” Nick says. He signals the waiter for another drink and tries to ignore the hearts that are practically beaming out of Aimee’s eyes.

*

What Nick decides to do is this:

He goes to one of those fancy paper and envelope shops that Pixie always drags him to for flower scented stationary, and charms the sales clerk into selling him a single invitation from the sample book. (Well, charmed might a little generous of a term. Psychotically cajoled and frightened with his crazy eyes until she gave him whatever he wanted so he would leave might be slightly more apt.) Either way the result is the same: Nick has an invitation to Leanne Bowen and Roger Edgars’ pending nuptials in his pocket and a knot in his belly the size of a football.

“Hey,” Harry calls from the kitchen when Nick lets himself into the flat. Nick drops his keys into the bowl on the side table and shoves his hand into his pocket, his thumb pressing down into the folded cardstock of the invitation. “You alright?”

“I’m good, yeah,” Nick says back. He hovers uncertainly in the hallway for a minute and then curses himself for acting stupid and goes into the kitchen. It’s Harry, he reminds himself. Nick will talk to him and Harry will either say yes or he’ll say no but either way it will be fine, Nick’s not worried (much). He leans his shoulder into the doorway and watches where Harry’s stood at the work surface, his hair pushed back in a headband and jeans slung low on his hips. He’s wearing a dark Pink Floyd t-shirt that’s stretched out around the neck and then he turns around to smile and Nick can see there’s dough all over his hands and flour dusted over the front of his shirt and up high on his cheekbones. 

“I’m making bread,” Harry says happily. Nick glances down at the lumpy blob of dough on his counter and Harry huffs out a laugh. “Well, I’m trying to make bread,” he says and pokes the lump with his fingers. And it’s the dumbest thing in the world – getting choked up over the just out of his teens and far too young for him popstar standing in his kitchen making bread – but that’s what happens because when it comes to Harry, Nick is nothing if not stupid.

Harry notices him staring and he pulls a face, his forehead crinkling and the space between his eyebrows creasing into a frown. “Is something wrong?” Harry asks. 

“No, no. Not at all.” Nick shakes his head and forces himself to snap out of it. This will be over before it even begins if he continues to just stand around silently staring at Harry all night. He takes a deep breath and walks over, kissing Harry soundly and swallowing the surprised laugh Harry puffs against his mouth. 

“I figured I’d try and make some bread and we could do sandwiches later when the X Factor is on. I grabbed some wine when I was out before and invited Pix and Aimee to come over but they said they had plans already. Maybe we can meet up with them later on or something if you want.”

Nick can’t even express how much that’s something that he _doesn’t_ want. The very idea of seeing Aimee and Pix after whatever happens tonight - either good or bad - is horrifying. Nick would rather die. 

“Sure,” he says weakly, because he’s a shell of a man apparently. “That sounds great.”

Nick leans against the counter and watches Harry move around his kitchen, rolling the dough up into a ball and sticking it under a towel to rise and then washing up in the sink. He chatters on about his day and some of the new songs he and the lads are working on and all the while Nick keeps his thumb on the corner of the invitation pressing down harder and harder to try and keep from chickening out. He must go too long without saying anything though because soon enough Harry’s sliding into Nick’s space and wrapping his arms around Nick’s waist. He tilts his head and presses his mouth against Nick’s and it’s like everything narrows down to exactly that: Harry’s hands on him, his lips against Nick’s.

“Hey, so I got something today,” Nick says pulling back a little so he can look Harry in the eye. Harry is smiling at him sweetly and Nick thinks: _screw it_ and pulls the invitation from his pocket. 

It’s a little crumpled already, the top corner bent over and rubbed smooth from Nick’s thumb. Harry takes it from him eagerly and reads it quickly before looking up with a confused smile on his face. 

“Who are Leanne and Roger? Have I met them?”

And oh god, Nick really should have thought this through a little better because for as creepily as Aimee can sometimes read his mind Harry can be distressingly obtuse about certain things and this is apparently one of them. 

Then again Nick is trying to propose by using _someone else’s wedding invitation_ , so maybe Harry isn’t entirely to blame. 

“No, erm, we’re not actually going to a wedding for Leanne and Roger,” Nick says weakly. “Whoever they are, I mean. I’m sure they’re lovely though.”

Harry frowns. “So why do you have an invitation if we’re not going to the wedding?” he asks. His eyebrows are lifting up under his fringe. 

“I thought,” Nick starts and bites his lip. Harry’s hand slides up from his waist to rub over his arm and Nick breathes deep. He can do this, he knows he can. “I thought maybe we could put our names on there one day instead. On an invitation like that, I mean.”

Harry still looks confused, the poor dear. Nick would think it was cute if it was happening at any other time and not right now when he’s doing the most insane and reckless thing he’s possibly ever done. “What, you want us to throw a party?” Harry finally asks and Nick laughs a little hysterically. 

“You could say that.”

Harry shrugs a bit and tosses the invitation onto the counter. “Sure, we can do that. I don’t think we need fancy invitations or anything though. We can just make a few phone calls, I can send out some texts—“

“Not a party, Harry,” Nick says because if Harry keeps talking about throwing a party Nick’s head might explode. “A wedding.”

Harry stops talking so quickly Nick can hear his teeth clink. 

“A wedding?” Harry asks.

Nick nods. 

“For, uhm.” Harry bites his lip and Nick can’t keep himself from touching Harry right then. He reaches out and curves his fingers under Harry’s jaw, slides his hand into the hair at the back of Harry’s head. Nick’s heart is racing; his breath is coming in short bursts and all he can think is that needs Harry to say yes. He didn’t think it really mattered but he was lying to himself. Harry’s always mattered more than most. 

“For who?” Harry sounds a little confused then, and a little hopeful and Nick wants so badly to kiss him so he does. 

“For us if you want,” Nick says. Harry is still just staring at him, eyes wide and cheeks flushed warm and pink. “I mean, if you don’t I guess that’s—“

“No, wait, I do,” Harry says quickly. “I do. You didn’t give me a chance to answer; you can’t take it back,” he warns, eyes narrowing. “You said it. I heard you.”

“I did say it, yes,” Nick says.

Harry blinks at him and he still looks confused. “I don’t understand,” he says. “Why are you doing this?”

“Oh god, are you really going to make me spell it all out?” Nick takes Harry by the hand and leads him to the kitchen table. He shoves him down into one of the chairs and Harry goes limply, as if the shock of what’s happening has turned all of his muscles to noodles. Nick likes manhandling Harry – it’s one of his favorite pastimes to be honest – but this is a bit ridiculous, even for them. “I would like us to have a wedding one day if you want,” Nick says slowly so Harry can understand every word. He grabs another chair and sits down across from Harry so their knees are touching and leans forward.

Harry stares at him. “You would.”

“I would, yes,” Nick agrees.

“With me.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “That’s the plan.”

Harry flails a little at that. His mouth is parted slightly and he’s breathing quickly. He doesn’t look panicked, exactly, but he doesn’t look calm either. Nick is trying very hard not to freak out. 

“Are you just doing this for me?” Harry finally asks. “Because it’s something you think I want or need? Because I don’t need it to be happy, Nick; I can be happy exactly how we are now.”

Nick thinks about that before he answers, because honestly when he first thought about it, it probably was just because he wanted Harry to be happy or because he wanted to prove everyone wrong about how crap of a husband he’ll be. Nick can’t lie and say this is something he’s always dreamed about, that his life would be incomplete if he didn’t marry someone. 

It’s more than that, though. He wants to make Harry happy, yes, but it would also make _him_ happy. Keeping Harry forever isn’t something he’s opposed to.

Nick smiles and takes Harry’s hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over the thin skin covering Harry’s wrists. “I know we’re good like we are now but, I don’t know. I kind of like the idea of knowing I’ll be the only one to make you happy for the rest of your life.”

“Nick,” Harry breathes. His eyes are shining and his breath is hitching in his chest. 

“So you’re good with all of this?” Nick asks gently. “With a wedding and marriage and all the trimmings?”

Harry leans forward and kisses him, softly at first but it quickly turns hot and desperate. Harry’s fingers dig into Nick’s hair and tilt his head to the side so Harry can lick into his mouth. He breathes out Nick’s name then chases it with his lips. “I love you,” Harry says quietly. He angles their faces so their foreheads are touching and Nick looks into Harry’s sparkling green eyes. “I really do.”

“I’ll take that as a yes then,” Nick says, and Harry laughs and kisses him again.

*

It’s a week before the wedding when Louis comes to see him. Nick’s not surprised; he was expecting any one of the lads or even all four of them at some point but it’s strange when it’s just him and Louis. Not that they don’t get along, they always have actually. Nick appreciates Louis’ sense of humor and sarcasm and finds it refreshing that someone so publically involved with the media has no problem telling people to fuck off every once in a while. Nick wishes more people employed Louis’ brand of no bullshit and he’s told him so on numerous occasions. 

But the fact that they agree on shading The Wanted and not employing basic media training doesn’t disguise the fact that when it comes to _Harry_ things have always been a little more tense between him and Louis. Nick recognizes that he and Harry started getting close just as Harry and Louis _stopped_ being so close and not that Nick ever thought of himself as a replacement but he did kind of slot into the space in Harry’s life for a best friend that Louis had just recently vacated. There’s just always been _something_ there between them after that. Louis loves Harry. Nick understands this and he never expected to be able to run away and marry Louis’ best friend without Louis saying _something_.

“So, marriage, eh?” Louis is sat at Nick’s kitchen table sipping a cup of tea and eating a chocolate biscuit. When he called earlier in the day and told Nick he was stopping by, Nick ran out to Sainsbury’s and bought every flavor tea and biscuit they had because he can never remember which of the lads likes what and he wanted to be prepared. Then he scrubbed the kitchen and the loo as if the Queen herself were coming over and not Louis bloody Tomlinson.

Nick laughs weakly. “Right? It’s crazy.”

Louis stares at him with piercing blue eyes and Nick fiddles with his teacup. He takes a sip and nearly burns his tongue then silently curses Louis when he snickers at him. 

“You know,” Louis says, cutting right to the point. “Harry really loves you.”

“Well I’d hope so since he’s marrying me,” Nick says dryly. Louis just squints his eyes some more. 

“No, I mean, Harry loves everybody at least a little bit; that’s just how he is,” Louis says. Nick nods because this isn’t news; he knows this about Harry already. “It’s just – he really, truly _loves_ you, you know? And I want to make sure you’re sure about this. Really _sure_ sure.”

Nick’s chest is tight with how fond he is of Louis at this very moment. He’s always known how Harry’s friends feel about him but seeing it right in front of him humbles him in a way nothing else could. 

“I’m really sure, Lou, I promise you that,” Nick says seriously. “I’m not going to change my mind one day or, I don’t know, do anything to hurt Harry, I promise.” He shakes his head a little, scared by how much he believes with he’s saying. Nick would never hurt Harry; he’d rather die himself. 

“Hmm,” Louis says ominously. He’s still staring at Nick, trying to see inside his skull it seems like, and then all at once his face clears and he’s smiling brightly. Nick guesses he finally found whatever he was looking for. “Well, all right then,” Louis says and claps his hand. “Game of FIFA, mate?” and he’s pushing up from the table and taking his cup of tea into the living room, kicking his Tom’s off as he climbs onto Nick’s couch. 

*

Nick’s mobile buzzes in his pocket and he pulls away from where Aimee’s fussing with his hair for the thousandth time this hour to answer it. 

“Nick?” Harry’s exasperated voice is in his ear and Nick is instantly smiling despite himself. 

“Hi, love,” he says quietly. From next to him Aimee glares and yanks the mobile from his hands. 

“Is that Harry? You can’t speak to him before the wedding!” she screeches. “It’s bad luck!”

“Oi! Give me that back!” Nick yells, grabbing his mobile because Aimee holding things over her head really doesn’t do any good for her. It’s not like Nick can’t _reach_. He can hear Harry laughing quietly on the other end of the line and Nick glares at the rest of them – Aimee and Pix and Alexa who’ve been dressed for hours and are now just hovering around Nick in the dressing suite driving him mad and fuss with his hair and tuxedo every time he turns around. “It’s not bad luck to _talk_ to him, for god’s sake. I’m _marrying_ him in a few hours,” he says and is met with a chorus of sniffly _Aww_ s. 

Nick rolls his eyes at them all and wanders out into the hall. He shuts the door behind him in the middle of Aimee shouting something about not getting wrinkled and leans his head against the wall to try and get a moment’s peace. 

“You alright?” he asks Harry and Harry laughs. 

“Pretty much the same as you,” Harry drones and Nick makes a sympathetic sound low in his throat. 

“Your mum driving you mad?” Nick asks and Harry laughs, bright and quick. 

“I wish it were her; at least that would make sense.”

Nick scrunches his forehead. “Then who—“

“ _The lads_ ,” Harry sighs. “They’re all _insane_. Niall is jumping around so nervous it’s like _he’s_ the one getting married and Zayn’s chain smoking in the loo and the entire room stinks. Liam won’t stop sniffling and telling me how _proud_ he is of us and Louis just keeps patting my shoulder and telling me it’s not too late to back out now like I’m some blushing virgin on her wedding night and, ugh. They’re making me _crazy_.”

Nick laughs quietly and Harry groans. “Don’t laugh at meeee. They’re so annoying.”

“Oh, my poor lad.” Nick can’t stop smiling listening to Harry whine at him and it suddenly hits him how _happy_ he is and how much he loves Harry and it’s like something comes over him and Nick can’t actually stand the idea of Harry being hid up in his room the rest of the day until the ceremony without seeing him. Nick needs to see his face and kiss his mouth and touch his curls. “What floor are you on?” he whispers furtively, slinking off down the hall so Aimee can’t press her ear to the door and try to eavesdrop. 

“Uhm, the fifteenth, I think.”

“I’m down on the tenth floor,” Nick tells him. “Do you think you can escape?”

Harry sucks in a breath. “Nick! So scandalous! Isn’t it bad luck to see each other before the ceremony or something?”

“Bah, we don’t need luck,” Nick tells him and Harry makes a soft sound of approval. “And I miss you. It’s been _two days_ since I’ve seen you, Harry.”

Harry laughs, loud and bright. “Two days shouldn’t have seemed that long, yeah? God, it’s a good thing we’re marrying each other; we’re so ridiculous no one else would probably ever have us.”

“Well I’m glad I don’t have to find out,” Nick says quietly. 

Harry is silent for a moment and then he hears the mobile being jostled around as he yells, “Lads! I’ve got to run for a mo! Just found out Gemma’s here and she can’t find a place to park and, erm—“ and then there’s the sound of a door closing off the shouted protests of four angry bandmates and Harry giggling helplessly into his mobile. “Ok. Tenth floor? I’ll be there in two minutes.”

*

Nick meets Harry in front of the lift doors and whisks him down the hall and into a coat cupboard he spied earlier in the day. Harry is laughing breathlessly and he’s nearly finished getting dressed already; his tuxedo is on and his hair has been properly combed. The only thing left for him to fix is the tie hanging loose around his neck but Nick smiles as he closes and locks the door behind him, leaning in to kiss Harry and sink his fingers into his perfectly styled hair. 

“You look really good,” Nick says biting the corner of Harry’s mouth and the sharp edge of his jaw. “You clean up pretty nice, Styles.”

Harry laughs and the corners of his eyes crinkle up. He looks excited and happy and Nick can’t stop touching his face and kissing his mouth, hoping to somehow convey how much joy he’s got bubbling up in his own chest. 

“I missed you,” Harry says. He’s kissing Nick roughly and scrabbling with the buttons on Nick’s jacket and his belt. “I missed you so much in two stupid days.”

“Harry,” Nick whines and smoothes his hands down Harry’s back until he gets to the waist of Harry’s trousers. He yanks his fancy dress shirt from the waistband until he can slide his fingers up over the soft skin of Harry’s back, curling his hands into the dip of his spine and pulling him closer so their bodies are slotted perfectly together, all solid warmth and heat. 

“Come on, do something.” Harry’s yanking as Nick’s belt and then tugging his trousers open and pulling down the zip. Nick feels half-crazy, almost like he’s drunk with how giddy and light he feels. He kisses every part of Harry he can reach – his cheek, the side of his throat, the tips of his fingers when he grabs Harry’s hand in his – and Harry just laughs and grins and kisses him back. “I thought the guests were the ones who were supposed to hook up in the coat cupboard at weddings, not the grooms,” he says and Nick bursts out laughing.

“God I love you,” he says, and Harry instantly freezes. Nick would think he’s done or said something wrong because Harry’s just standing there watching him, eyes wide and shining, but then he tilts his head and smiles sweetly. 

“I love you too,” he says softly after a moment, and something about it is so quiet and certain Nick’s heart clenches tight in his chest. 

The sound of Harry’s mobile ringing breaks the silence, and then he’s fumbling it out of his trousers and frowning. “Oh god. They’re looking for me.”

Nick smiles wickedly and pulls Harry in closer, shoving their trousers down and taking both of their dicks in his hand. “Then we better move this along,” he says, biting into his lip when Harry covers Nick’s fingers with his own and starts tugging at a fast, tight pace. Nick’s been hard since the second the lift doors opened and he saw Harry standing in front of him, and from the choked off desperate sounds Harry’s making against Nick’s throat he’s fairly sure Harry’s not in much better of a state. 

It barely takes any time at all, just a few quick flicks of Harry’s thumb over the head of his dick, a long pull when he gets up to the top and Harry’s other hand snaking around Nick’s back to grab onto him tighter, pull them closer together so they’re pressed against each other in every possible place, and Nick’s coming, grabbing the fancy handkerchief Harry’s got stuffed in the pocket of his tuxedo jacket to keep from making a complete mess of his trousers. Nick’s heart is thumping rapidly and he feels his own mobile buzz in his pocket so he licks and bites along Harry’s jaw, sinking his teeth into the lobe of Harry’s ear like Nick knows he loves until Harry is gasping and shaking, eyes shut tight as he comes in Nick’s hand. 

Nick wants to stay there all day. Sod the wedding; he’ll be perfectly happy just kissing Harry in the closet and making him come over and over and over again. Harry mouths gently at Nick’s jaw, biting down a little and laughing as they distantly hear a door slam shut and Aimee’s voice screeching down the hall, “Grimshaw! I know you’re around here somewhere! You better get your arse back to the room so we can fix you up so you’re ready to be married in half an hour.”

Harry pulls back a little, eyes wide and panicked. “Half an hour?”

And oh, that can’t be right can it? Nick fumbles with his watch and frowns at the time. “Well look at that. Where’d all the time go?”

“Shit, shit, shit!” Harry jumps back and fumbles with his pants and trousers, buttoning and zipping up as quickly as he can. “The lads are probably going bonkers. Liam might have actually birthed a kitten by now I’ve been gone so long.”

Nick laughs and takes Harry’s face in his hands, kissing him soundly on the mouth. “Go,” he tells him. “I’ll go to my room and distract Aimee and you can sneak out in two minutes, all right?”

“All right, yeah,” Harry says. Nick turns to leave, cracking the door open a few inches to peer anxiously down the hall which is thankfully empty. “Hey, Nick,” Harry says. He tugs on Nick’s sleeve and Nick turns around. 

“Yeah?”

Harry is quiet, but he’s looking at Nick with an expression as close to awe as Nick’s ever seen. He doesn’t say anything, just watches him, but Nick hears everything he’s saying just the same. 

“Yeah, Harry. Me too,” Nick says quietly. “I’ll see you in half an hour, popstar.” 

“I’ll see you there,” Harry says, and Nick slips into the hall.

*

For all of everyone’s fussing the wedding is actually a relatively small affair. Both of their families and sisters are there. Harry’s got the lads and Nick’s got the girls and Henry. There are some extras of course – Finchy and Simon and Perrie and Louis’ friend Stan – but other than that it’s kind of small and laid back, a few rows of chairs in a quiet room in the hotel.

Neither of them walk down the aisle and no one gives anyone away. They meet in the middle like they’ve always done about everything before, and Nick would have thought he’d be nervous when he saw Harry or start freaking out when he stopped to really think about what they were about to do but it never happens.

Harry walks in and Nick looks up to see him and all he feels is calm and happy and loved. Harry’s smiling almost shyly, his face flushed and dimples set deep in his cheeks. When he gets to Harry, Nick takes his hand and grins so wide his cheeks hurt. He has to look down because looking at Harry right now might actually kill him. 

“Hey, Nick,” Harry says, leaning in close to whisper in Nick’s ear. “It’s your last chance to run.”

Nick can’t believe how that’s actually the farthest thing from his mind. He shakes his head and smiles and squeezes Harry’s hand. “Nah,” he says. “I think I’m good right here.”

*

The party after the wedding is mad. They’ve completely taken over the hotel and everywhere Nick turns he sees something else happening that he’d never expected to see in his life. 

Aimee and Gemma are leaned close at one of the tables giggling hysterically over something on Aimee’s phone. Harry’s mum and Finchy are barefoot on the dance floor and doing some sort of bizarre dance to one of the more questionable songs Harry requested be played at the reception. Liam is probably the most pissed Nick’s ever seen him, his cheeks pink and eyes crinkled so deep in laughter where he’s spinning around the tables with Louis Nick’s concerned he can see anything at all. 

And through it all Nick’s had Harry by his side; Harry’s hand curled into the back of Nick’s shirt, their shoulders pressed close together wherever they are. Nick’s fairly sure they could manage to be apart for a bit if they needed to, but right now Nick doesn’t really want that. Harry’s his; he said it before in front of all of their family and friends and Nick thinks that of all the amazing moments he’s had so far in his life, marrying Harry today is by far the top of the list. 

Nick leans back in his chair and yanks on his tie, loosening it and letting it dangle around his neck. Harry’s pulled the chair next to him even closer and he hunches forward so their arms brush and their thighs press together where they’re sat. Harry’s starting to look a little mussed as well; his hair is knotty and tangled and his cheeks are flushed pink and damp with sweat. They’d been dancing with Zayn and Perrie for a while and have just begged off to get a drink and catch their breath, but the longer Nick sits there the lazier he gets and the less he wants to get up. 

“God, I’m tired,” Harry says. He leans over so his head is on Nick’s shoulder, his face turned and pressed against the side of Nick’s neck. 

Nick reaches back to comb his fingers through Harry’s hair and feels when he hums against him. “We should really get up and go talk to some more people,” Nick tells him. 

“Nooooo,” Harry whines. “Don’t want to.”

“Or we could get some food,” Nick says. 

“Not hungry.”

“I could fetch you a drink?”

“Nick,” Harry says, laughing a little breathlessly. “I just want to sit.”

“How about we dance,” Nick suggests. “I could request something slow and romantic and spin you around the dance floor like a proper husband would.”

Harry shifts so he’s sitting closer to Nick and nudges his nose against Nick’s neck until their lips catch in a sweet kiss. “How about if I just want to sit here and snog my _proper husband_ instead,” Harry says softly, his breath a warm puff against Nick’s mouth. “Is that all right with you?”

“Well I don’t know,” Nick says trying his best to sound disappointed and missing by a mile. “Maybe I wanted to do some more dancing.”

Harry grins and Nick reaches up to flick the curl back from his eyes. “We’ve got plenty of time for that,” Harry tells him. “We’ve got, like, forever now.” 

And he’s right, so Nick kisses him again.

 

-end-


End file.
